


Atonement

by kebabeater1



Series: Songs of Ice and Fire [4]
Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra, Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Bending (Avatar TV), Angst, Dark, Detective Noir, F/M, Gen, I have sold my soul to Sokkla, Murder Mystery, Slow Burn, Socially Awkward Azula, Sokka and Azula are detectives, Sokka is haunted, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-14 17:00:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29049570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kebabeater1/pseuds/kebabeater1
Summary: Months after a personal tragedy, Sokka, a detective with the Republic City PD, is forced to face down the same demon that shattered his life and took away the person he loved most. Only this time, he's been partnered with a belligerent, domineering, and determined new detective named Azula in his quest to put a demented serial killer behind bars.PSA: This is like third on my priority list behind House of the Dragon and Taming the Wolf, but it's also my most concrete idea for a story yet. Updates will be SLOW. Let me know what you think.
Relationships: Aang/Katara (Avatar), Azula/Sokka (Avatar), Minor or Background Relationship(s), Sokka/Yue (mentioned/past), Sokkla - Relationship
Series: Songs of Ice and Fire [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2171442
Comments: 37
Kudos: 73





	1. Inertia

His feet pound against the pavement, the growl of the music in his ears and the rush of his blood flowing in his veins drowning away just about every feeling in his mind. He finds it a useful escape, one that has him sweltering in the July late afternoon heat of Republic City.

It's beautiful out here, oppressive humidity aside; the orange sun has a way of dipping below the skyscrapers downtown, in a way that casts jagged shadows over the inner highway loop and across it, the Medical Center. Tendrils of orange light wrap around decorative palm trees growing tall along the path. Republic City grew like a behemoth, its neighborhoods and suburbs sprawling across the land, all interconnected with major highways. The Medical Center itself was a grouping of hospitals, research centers, and medical universities, like a second downtown devoted to the healing arts. Katara and his brother in law, Aang, both live here, and Sokka has always found it relaxing to jog here. There are more trees along the sidewalk, and there are parks aplenty in little urban squares and along the swampy bayous that cut across the city like veins and arteries. The shadows make it more tolerable than the rest of the city, and there's a little coffee shop, the Roasted Dragon, that he and Katara like to frequent.

Sokka is a creature of habit. He has to be now. He times his jogs on Fridays when he knows Katara would be checking in to the café for a cup and a snack before her shift. It's become something of a ritual for them, a way to hold each other accountable for making time for family. Without it, Katara likely thinks he'd vanish into thin air.

Sokka sometimes thinks she's worrying more than she should, as per usual. Other times, he thinks she has the right of it. It's as if she uses these weekly meetings to keep him tethered, like a helium balloon that's threatening to float away at any given moment.

When he rounds the corner of Main and Kyoshi, he has to dig his heels into the pavement to keep from skidding into his sister. Katara, all blue scrubs and white coat, whips around to look at him impatiently; when he smiles and steps in for a hug, she makes a face and steps back.

"You stink," she says, as if that's explanation enough. "Can't you ride the metro here for once?"

Sokka laughs as he slips the earphones out and tucks them into their case. "You know the metro doesn't stop near my place. It's good to see you, Katara."

Her grimace relents, and finally, his sister smiles at him. "It's good to see you too. How was your week?"

They head inside. The Roasted Dragon is quaint, with a little rustic Earth Kingdom charm to it. It's not overly hipster, nor is it particularly commercialized, and it draws a small but steady crowd. Finding empty seats isn't hard - the little corner booth with the drab olive seats on the left side of the shop is always empty Friday afternoons as if the regulars have become aware that this section is cordoned off for 'Sokka-Katara time.' It has been, for a year now. The pleasant, earthy smell of ground coffee beans relaxes Sokka.

The server comes with their order in less than two minutes - a dollop of milk and a pinch of sugar in Katara's; Sokka has always preferred his straight black and bold. His sister peers over her coffee and glances at her watch quickly.

"Got somewhere to be?" he asks.

Katara grimaces. "Procedure as soon as I get in. The attending doc's crawled up my ass about it, even though I don't think it's the right call. The patient needs more aggressive therapy for the melanoma first before we start operating on the completely FUCKING benign tumor in the thyroid. Seriously, some of these dipshits don't understand how to prioritize patient care in a way that's best for the patient."

Katara's smart, but somehow Sokka thinks that word undersells it. She's incredibly passionate, and brilliant when it comes to healing - and most often, she's right. He remembers fondly how she had objected to being shoehorned into a healing role because of her gender. She did not want to be a nurse or a midwife, and she certainly did not want that choice made for her because she was a girl.

Instead, she became one of the finest surgical oncologists in the city. Typical Katara. She would shoot for the moon, overshoot, and hit the stars instead.

"Well, if you say so, you're probably right," Sokka muses. Time and experience have taught him that Katara usually is. "You can run if you have to."

Katara makes a face, but Sokka can tell she's considering it. They rarely bail on each other, so when she considers it, Sokka knows it's not something trivial. "I don't want to," she says, somewhat petulantly. "You're coming Sunday, right?"

Sokka's mind goes blank. Sunday is when it happened last year. He tries to shove down the stone that has magically lodged itself in his dry throat. Katara sighs impatiently, knowing he's forgotten, but she's the one who doesn't remember. It's the one-year marker of when it happened, he wants to scream at her... but he doesn't. "It's Bumi's fourth birthday. He'll be devastated if you don't show up," she tells him.

"Oh." Sokka pauses, wondering why something like that would slip his mind. But then he realizes, in the fury and fear of what happened last year, he probably forgot about Bumi's previous birthday too, which makes him feel more guilt. He _loves_ Bumi. The boy is all Sokka in nature, even if Aang and Katara are his parents.

But it's also a year since it happened. He doesn't know if he should be around people. At the same time, he doesn't want to be alone. "Yeah, yeah... I'll be there for sure. Wow, four. It feels like I was holding him in the hospital yesterday."

Katara smiles. "Probably because you don't have to live with him every day." She winces then as if she realizes how horrible that sounds. "I sound like a terrible mother. Bumi's a handful, and it hasn't gotten better since Kya came long. Every day is a new challenge... not unlike how you were at times back in our hometown." She grins at him playfully before she checks her watch again and swears. "Shit, spirits damnit. I really should run."

Sokka stands with her and grabs his coffee-to-go, trying not to let his mind wander. He's been thinking about Sunday for the past month. In a way, he's grateful for Bumi's birthday, because it gives him something else to try and focus on. "Should I bring anything?"

"Yourself, a gift if you want - something you two can do together, you know Bumi loves to spend time with you..." Katara trails off, appraising him one more time, before she says, "And a date, or a friend. You know there's always a plus one appended to these invites, right?" Before he can say anything, her face turns apologetic. "I'm sorry, I'm not trying to push you or anything. I know it's only been a year." Her face falls all of a sudden, and suddenly apologetic turns into horribly contrite. That doesn't bother him so much as the unrestrained pity in her eyes, which makes him feel small. "Fuck, Sokka, I... I didn't think about it. Sunday-"

"Don't worry about it," he chokes out, truthfully. He doesn't want her to worry. At the same time, part of him is enraged that she could forget. The other part of him is just jealous because he won't ever be able to forget. "It'll be nice to be around family and friends on the weekend."

An uncomfortable silence passes between them. Katara is the first to break it. "I love you, Sokka." She wraps her arms around him, the sweat and smell of his run fully forgotten, her need to show him how much she cares overriding it. "Next time, full hour, I buy the coffee, and as many cake pops as you want," she promises, before gathering the last of her things and dashing out the door. "Don't forget to call Gran-Gran!" she shouts, before leaving. Through the glass windows of the cafe, he thinks he catches a lone tear streaming down her face as she rushes down the street.

Sokka finishes the rest of his coffee, still standing by the door, before he leaves. The drink settles hard in his stomach, and so he hops on the Metro at the corner of the block, not wanting to run with coffee sloshing around in his belly. There are only a few hobos on the route, and the bus smells of stale piss and alcohol. He immediately regrets it, and his hand fumbles for the six-month chip sitting in the drawstring pocket of his jogger pants.

He finds a seat away from everyone, and only really begins to realize that he rarely ever talks about what happens to him in these meetings with Katara. Not because she doesn't ask. His life is just that stagnant. It has been for a year.

Then, he thinks that's not entirely true. He was worse than stagnant for the first six months. He drank and drugged himself into a hole until they - he - found the bastard. And since then, since the sobriety, it's been marginally better. He's traded blackouts for the inability to forget.

Sometimes, he's not sure which was better. But sobriety and the program give him structure, and so he sticks to them.

The route is circuitous, so it's a little late when he gets back to his neighborhood. The summer sun doesn't fade away quickly in Republic City, so it's still twilight out after 8 PM, though the neighborhood lampposts have begun to flicker on. There's a smaller U-Haul parked illegally in the fire zone across the narrow street. Sokka wonders if someone is moving into his building, but that can't be right - it's one of those old stand-up narrow brownstones, where there are only two apartments to a floor, and he's not aware of any vacancies. He likes his place; It's far cozier than the sprawling apartment complexes they build in the suburbs nowadays.

And it has no memories of her, except for a single framed photo on his mantelpiece that stays face down more often than not. The last time he looked at it, he nearly went mad searching for a bottle.

With only six units in the building, Sokka would have known if someone was moving in. Then again, he's slept the last two nights at the station. He probably would have slept there again tonight had Toph not sent him home with a furious reprimand. Then, as if the devil herself had been summoned by force of thought, Toph calls. Sokka picks up immediately.

"At least let it go past the first ring before you pick up," growls the captain, his best friend on the force. "It's Friday night, for fuck's sake. You can pretend to have a life."

Sokka mumbles some half-hearted retort. "What's up?"

"Hahn's transfer came through, so he's gone cross-town to the 12th precinct. I've got you paired up with a new hire; she came in for her interview today. Last name is... uh... _fuck,_ what was it...? Sozin, yeah, shit. I forgot to ask if she's related to Sparky, they're both Fire Nation... She seems like a bit of a hardass, but she's sharp, comes with solid recs."

Sokka's eye drifts towards the moving van, still fixated on whether he's getting a new neighbor; Toph's words are processed through one ear and out the other. "Sounds good." Later he'll wonder why he said that - he didn't like working with Hahn, but he certainly didn't need a partner - or a babysitter, for that matter. "Never liked Hahn, anyway. You coming to Bumi's party this Sunday?"

"Yeah." Toph's voice crackles on the other side of the line, connection fuzzy. Or maybe she knows. Toph is the one person who wouldn't forget. "Lin's been looking forward to it all week. You bringing a plus one this time?"

"Do you and Katara meet up and plan this shit?" Sokka groans. "You'd know if I was dating." He overhears the noise of a car unlocking, and then a door opening on the other side, knowing Toph is likely just now heading home for the weekend.

"I didn't say anything about dating. Bring one of those Foggy Swamp hicks, I haven't seen Tho or Due in years. Look, I'll fucking fire you if you don't stop coming in to work early every goddamn day and staying past 10 PM every night. You've got more PTO accrued than anybody else in the detective pool. Take a break and live life, Sokka. I'm tired of you throwing yourself at work as if that's all there is in life."

"You do the same," Sokka bites back, though he knows it's unfair. Toph's situation is a little different, and besides, she has something at home to look forward to.

"Yeah, but I still make time for Lin," Toph says quietly. "Like I said, there's more to life than work. You're the best detective I have, Sokka, and you're my best friend, which is why I'm not going to bullshit you and tell you what you've got going on is healthy." Toph sighs, and Sokka feels the weight of that sigh settle in his chest. Toph has always cared more than most, even if she has a unique way of showing it. She was there even more than Katara was during the darkest of times, in the six months he spent like an obsessive maniac searching for the man who did... _that_... to her.

Katara couldn't be beaten when it came to treating the body, but Toph might have saved whatever shattered fragments remained of his soul.

"Sorry, I didn't mean what I said. Look, I'll take it easy this weekend. We can talk more on Monday?" Sokka says, trying to patch up the canyon that feels like is yawning between them.

"Yeah," Toph responds. "Don't even think about work 'til then. I'll see you Sunday, pal." She hangs up, though Sokka doesn't move his phone from ear to pocket for another few seconds. He looks up, and in the indigo sky, there is the moon.

He tries his hardest not to think of her and fails utterly.

That is why Sokka's thoughts are preoccupied when he swipes his keycard at the buzzer and opens the door to the apartment building, and so he doesn't see the woman on the other side until after they collide hard into one another. It is a jarring moment to be shaken out of his thoughts of Yue, only to end up on the floor, tangled up with a stranger.

The stranger pushes herself off and leaps to her feet quickly. "Watch where you're fucking going," he hears. The voice is high, cold, and far too posh for his neighborhood. The apology is out before he really thinks about it.

"Sorry, ah... my mind was in five different places. My bad." He looks on the floor. The woman's dropped a hamper; clothes are lying all around the floor, most of them in varying shades of gold, black, or red. He mindlessly begins to help pick them up before he realizes the vast majority of them are intimates, so he sheepishly retracts his hands, filled with a fistful of lacy panties, and looks around for a place to put them.

Something about women's lingerie reminds him of Yue - not so much sexually, but in the domestic, intimate way he misses so horribly, in the way he used to separate their underwear before tossing them into the wash, or in the way she yelled at him (and then later forgave him with a million kisses) for ruining a load of whites mixed with colors - a mistake he never repeated again. That's what he misses more than anything - the light she brought to the most mundane things in life.

He pushes away the thoughts and tells himself everything in the world will remind him of her unless he stops dwelling. It's easier said than done.

He drops whatever he has into the hamper and looks up at the victim of his errant thoughts. Her appearance is jarring. 'Pretty' might have undersold it – she's actually gorgeous, in the way that seems too good to actually be true, like an airbrushed magazine cover or a photoshopped Instagram picture. It's probably borderline sacrilegious that she's not even trying – there's zero makeup on her face; no lipstick, no eye shadow, not even a hint of blush, and she's dressed like she's about to go out for a jog, in a loose red tank and black leggings. Her hair's in a peculiar knot - not so much the knot itself, but peculiar in the way two bangs fall perfectly on either side of her symmetrical face, framing a pair of blazing, frightening golden eyes, pursed lips that belie their natural fullness, and aristocratic features.

"I'd help, but I don't think you want a stranger handling your underwear," Sokka says. He's not sure he can keep looking at those piercing eyes, so he looks just about everywhere else. The girl is scowling at him something fierce.

"Just get out of my way," she snarls, quickly gathering her spilled clothes and shoving them back into the hamper. She marches upstairs without a second glance back at him.

_Wait a second. Upstairs?_

A cold pit opens in Sokka's stomach. There's a rustling noise, followed by the creaking of an unoiled hinge, and then the door of 1B opens - Sokka's direct downstairs neighbor, Aunt Wu, pokes her diminutive head out. She's not really his aunt - well, Sokka's sure she's _someone's_ aunt - but everyone in the building has more or less taken to calling her that. He's pretty sure June, who lives in 1A, started it.

"What's all the commotion, dear?" she asks.

He feels like a hurricane has just blown past him, so he simply shrugs, just as curious as Aunt Wu. "Is someone moving in?"

Aunt Wu's face lights up like the psychedelic neon lights she keeps inside her apartment - all part of the psychic business she runs out of her home. She's offered to read Sokka's future more than once, but he always turns her down.

He's not sure if it's because he doesn't want to be lied to and told everything is bright, or if he doesn't want to hear the truth and be told of whatever empty oblivion he feels awaits him.

"Oh, yes. Oyaji slipped a notice under everyone's door yesterday saying we'd have a new tenant in 2A. Mr. Pathik moved out, didn't you know?"

Sokka shakes his head, befuddled. Oyaji - the landlord, a generally pleasant guy - has a habit of being a little late to notify his tenants of any changes, and either way, Sokka hasn't slept at home for the last two days. "I've been at the station, Aunt Wu," he says. "I've got a new neighbor? And Mr. Pathik never said anything about moving out."

"I know, I know, but I think something happened with a family member in the Earth Kingdom, it was all very quick," Aunt Wu says. "Still, you ought to go introduce yourself. Be a gentleman and help her out, won't you?" She smiles at him with a knowing twinkle in her eye and shuts the door.

Sokka stares at the stairs leading up to the second landing - his floor - and wills himself to take a step forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drop a note in the comments if you liked the story :)  
> Also, can anyone guess which city I've modeled my version of Republic City off of?
> 
> I'll give you two hints:
> 
> 1\. It's a major American city  
> 2\. It's not Los Angeles (since I know everyone will think that because of the palm trees)


	2. Running

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Azula's neighbor sparks some introspection.

"Hey! I'm sorry about running into you like that downstairs. Let me give you a hand with your boxes."

Azula turns around to the origin of the voice next to her, as she's unlocking her door. The man who so clumsily bumped into her downstairs has followed her upstairs and is now leaning against the door of the adjacent apartment. She looks at him briskly - blue running sneakers, sweatpants, and a tight black hoodie adorn a tall, athletic frame. He has skin-fade sides, hair tied up in a peculiar sort of man bun she knows is in vogue with Water Tribesmen. He has startlingly blue eyes adorning his cinnamon complexion that are watching her as observantly as she is him, though he is smiling sheepishly while she is scowling.

"And what makes you think I need any more of my boxes spilled to the floor?" she asks, twisting her mouth upwards into a poison smile.

His smile doesn't vanish; it becomes more sheepish if anything, and he absentmindedly rubs the back of his head. "I promise I'm not as much of a klutz as I seem."

She sniffs imperiously. "You're the next door?"

"That's me," he says, jabbing a thumb backward at his door. "Call me Sokka."

She looks him over once more. Her mind weighs the risks. He's a stranger. He could be a creep or a pervert. On the flip side, he's trying very consciously to not give her any threatening body signals. He's leaning away from her, not towards her, and he's looking at her straight in the eyes rather leering at her body.

She's exhausted from the drive from Yu Dao, and her body aches. She just wants to unroll her bedroll and go to sleep on the floor, but her mind is never going to allow her to sleep in an unpacked home, even though she has nothing pressing to do tomorrow. The neighbor could help with that.

Azula takes a deep breath, preparing to take the plunge, and waggles her keys at him. "Would you be so kind as to fetch the remainder of my belongings from the moving truck?"

Now he does take a step forward towards her. "Sure, yeah, no problem," he says. She tosses the keys at him, and he catches them one-handed out of the air.

"Do be careful not to scratch up the U-Haul," she says, a little more snidely than perhaps she really meant to.

The sheepish look fades away and he chuckles sardonically. "You do know you parked it illegally, right? I mean, you couldn't have missed the fire hydrant two feet away. You're lucky it wasn't towed to begin with."

Illegal parking? Hell, she hardly drove in Caldera, much less parked - she had _people_ to do that for her. Never mind Yu Dao, her last residence, which is one of those ancient, historic towns, with narrow cobblestone roads and medieval alleyways; she'd only had a scooter there.

"It's not a big deal, tow trucks have bigger fish to fry on a Friday night," Sokka continues, amusedly. "I'll park it on the other side of the street, if that's alright with you."

She nods mutely, and he smiles at her again, before stepping down the stairs, out of her sight. She sighs and wrenches open her door, stepping into the chaos within.

The first things she unpacks are the case files she received from Captain Beifong when she stopped by the precinct on her way to her new apartment. Her interview had been conducted over the phone, so it was the first time actually meeting the captain. She was a little shocked to see the woman was sightless - or at least, legally so. Captain Beifong had muttered a terse little tale about some kind of implants, echolocation, and vibrations, but it had paled to the little demonstration the captain made when she tossed a dart clean fifteen feet across into the bullseye of the board hung on the other wall of her office.

The captain had told her that her partner was a veteran of a couple of years on the force - Detective Hakodason, one of, if not the finest, detectives in the precinct. That woman does not seem the type to dole out idle praise, so Azula feels comfortable in assuming that her partner is at least competent at his job. She hopes, at least, that he is good with people. That has never been her strong suit. Cold hard logic, determination, cleverness, and wit are all things she excels at, but interpersonal relationships, empathy, and bedside manner are not.

Sokka the neighbor returns with her boxes, straining a little under the weight of all of them. He knocks at her door and she considers, for a moment, whether to let him in. Resolving that she can always pistol-whip him if he tries anything, she jerks her head as an invitation, and he wobbles in, setting the boxes on the apartment floor.

"U-Haul's on the other side of the street now," he says, handing her the keys. "Also, what do you have in these boxes, boulders?"

"None of your business," she retorts. Then, she sees the easy grin on his face and realizes he's only messing around with her. Something in her stings a little - not so much being short with him, but because it's _never_ been easy for her. Prying information out of a suspect is child's play. Regular interaction? Not so much.

She wants to blame her upbringing in Caldera, her father, but then something about resenting being born into the upper crust of the Fire Nation's wealthy class seems ungrateful on a karmic scale.

"Alright then, keep your secrets," he says. "Least I can let you have after I made you drop your underwear on the floor."

"And thank you for that," she bites at him. Thinking of the Captain, she says, "I've met blind people with better spatial awareness than you."

He gives her that Agnidamned disarming smile again, the one that both takes the wind out of her sails and annoys her at the same time. "Funny enough, so have I." He slides over a small scrap of paper with a number on it. "My cell, if you need anything. By the way, I never got your name, and I'd like to call you something other than neighbor or 2A."

She looks at the scrap of paper and back at him, silently resolving never to call him. "My name is Azula. Thank you for your assistance," she says stiffly. It is Friday night, after all, and he's of an age with her, or perhaps a year or two older - a man like him could have been unsuccessfully flirting with some girl in a dingy, piss-soaked nightclub downtown. Then she stares back at the scrap with his number and wonders if he's flirting with _her._

"Don't mention it, Azula," he says, giving her a little backward wave after he turns around and heads to her door. "See you around."

Without waiting for a response, he's out the door, and she's there alone, still looking at his number, still trying to puzzle out this particular piece of human interaction. She surveys all the boxes in front of her. The perfectionist desires to get everything sorted away so that she can devote tomorrow to getting furniture and reviewing her case files so she doesn't look like an incompetent fool on Monday, but something is prickling at her. At the other end of her living room, there's a glass sliding door that leads out to a little balcony overlooking their street. She steps out and the humid night air greets her, clinging to her skin like a second layer of clothing. She peers over to the next-door balcony - Sokka's balcony - but it's empty save for a little folding chair and a small table with a plant on it. There's some kind of book on the table, but even with his lights streaming through the blinds, she can't see what it is.

Instead, she chooses to gaze out at the skyline of Republic City in front of her, drinking in the sight of the sparkling lights and the highrises and tall freeways that skirt through the steel skeletons and glass skins of skyscrapers. There's a sense of anonymity here. It's the reason she came, after all. Her career in Yu Dao was kneecapped from progressing once they found out who exactly her father was.

She still remembers the call she got from Zuko. She's not close to her brother, but in a moment of angry frustration, she had let it out that her superiors were never going to promote a child of Ozai Sozin, no matter how well she had done. After all, the Sozin name was more or less mud in the Fire Nation after what had happened in recent years, even if Zuko was doing his best to change that.

Her brother had suggested that she apply for a position in the 8th Precinct of Republic City's Police Department. He said he knew a Captain there, one who wouldn't hinder her career due to her parentage. She applied mostly for the hell of it, but she'd gotten a callback. Interestingly, the Captain had not asked her about whether she was related to Zuko.

Now that she's here, though, there's a sense of trepidation. The Captain might not be prejudiced towards her, but she can't say the same for anyone else. She glances over at the neighbor's balcony again, hearing a little shuffling noise. He steps through his sliding door and steps out, leaning against his balcony.

For a moment, an urge to retreat into the privacy of her own apartment overtakes her, but he's not even looking in her direction, so she stays. Like she was, he's enraptured with the city lights, and all sign of levity has vanished from his face, replaced by a pensive look. His hair is no longer up, his scruff is gone, and the long brown locks frame his face, making him look a little younger.

"City's beautiful, isn't it?" His voice startles her, and she almost jumps, realizing he knows she's out there.

"I suppose," she replies. He turns to face her and brushes his hair out of his face. Their balconies are close enough to where they could lean over, reach out and shake hands if they wanted, but he stays on the far end of his. Before he can ask her more questions, and invade her anonymity, she decides to press him instead. "Have you lived here long?"

"This place or the city?"

"Both," she says.

"Here for about six months," he says. "The city... it's been a while. I came here to study at Republic University after high school. Been here more or less ever since."

"More or less?" she asks.

"I enlisted when the war broke out," he says plainly. "Spent time in the Fire Nation. Enough to pick up on a Caldera accent when I hear one."

She freezes. She's been fooled by an idle smile and a gentle face. He's as observant as a hawk. She quickly spins through all possible denials, before she decides there's no point in lying and further arousing his curiosity. "Excellent catch," she says.

Luckily, he doesn't seem interested in digging. "I spent more time in Jang Hui, though. The Engineer Corps was assigned to fix that big toxic disaster in the lake if you remember the news."

She nods. Of course, she remembers.

"My sister was a doctor attached to us there. She used to dress up as this figure from their folklore," Sokka continued. "People didn't really trust the vaccinations, you see, so they wouldn't take them until Katara made an effort to put them at ease. But they were good people. They didn't deserve to suffer like that."

"No, they didn't," she agrees. "That clean-up operation went a long way in mending ties between the nations."

"Turns out Fire Nation people are just people like everybody else," he says with a wry smile. "Are you done unpacking already? There really were just rocks in those boxes, weren't there?"

Despite herself, she lets out a chuckle. "No. I suppose I was distracted, and simply wanted to see what kind of view 1200 yuan a month would buy me."

He gestures expansively at the downtown skyline. "Not a bad one." With another smile, he's headed into his apartment, but not before he wishes her a good night.

As she goes inside and begins to unpack all her belongings, including the bedroll she has to serve as a makeshift bed until she finds a new mattress, her thoughts turn to Jang Hui.

It was her father's factory that caused the disaster. Oh, she had been a fool to trust in the man's rhetoric without looking at the conditions he inflicted on the workers in his businesses. For someone who couched his acts in terms of patriotism, Ozai had been little more than a power-hungry, exploitative businessman, whose money and political influence had pushed the Fire Nation on the path to that disaster of a war. She had been a beneficiary of that wealth, and she still is - she has a very sturdy rainy day fund, even after the war trials landed Ozai in prison for life and liquidated most of Phoenix Industries to cover reparations to the war-torn citizens of the country.

Since then, Azula's been on the run. Not because of anything she did, in particular - she was studying throughout the war - but her name is mud now because of Ozai. Zuko might be grinding it out, trying to make amends by running for political office in the Fire Nation in an attempt to make up for Ozai's crimes, but she's no bleeding heart. He can handle the rehabilitation of the Sozin name, she thinks. She just wants to live her life and solve a few Agnidamn crimes in peace.

Her dreams are haunted by a pair of inquisitive blue eyes that night.


	3. Between the Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sokka struggles with the weight of the past after a year. Azula has apartment problems.

Sokka takes in a deep breath outside the door, bracing himself for the hellscape within. His fingers grip against the object in his hand, and he barges in and is met immediately with gunfire.

The Nerf bullet hits him between the eyes and falls by his feet. _Dead_ , he thinks. Luckily, raucous laughter gets his attention before his mind can wander down morbid paths, and he looks up, smiling at his killer with gratefulness he'll never understand.

"Gotcha, Uncle Sokka!" his nephew roars, dropping the brand new Nerf gun and launching himself at his uncle. Sokka catches the rugrat with one arm and hoists him up, careful not to drop the wrapped gift in his own hand.

"Who is this big monster and what has he done with my nephew?" Sokka demands. He pokes his nose in Bumi's stomach. "Are you in there, Bumi? Did the monster eat you?"

Bumi howls with laughter and swats at Sokka. "Stop it, Uncle Sokka! I'm Bumi!"

"You can't be!" Sokka says, outraged. "My nephew is three years old, and you, sir, are very clearly FOUR years old." He pokes at Bumi's stomach again. "Don't worry, Bumi. The monster will have to poo-poo you out sooner or later."

"Okay, that's enough of that," Bumi's father chides, grabbing his son out of Sokka's hands. "Let your uncle breathe, will you, champ?" He sets Bumi on the floor, redirecting him back inside the house, and pulls Sokka into a crushing embrace. The slender Air Nomad has more strength than one would think at first sight.

"Missed you, buddy," Aang says with more than a little emotion in his voice. "It's been... two months, at least?"

Sokka slings his arm around one of his best friends as they walk down the hallway into the den. "As bad as I am about showing up, you know I couldn't miss the little monster's fourth birthday. Spirits, he's gonna be our age before you know it."

Aang laughs. "And we'll be hunched over, old men, spending our days playing pai sho and drinking tea."

Sokka doesn't see a mellow retirement in his future, but there's no need to say as much to Aang. Instead, he focuses on never letting his smile slip. They walk into the living room, and a loud cheer goes up from the whole 'Gaang' (Aang had always been pleased with that name) when Sokka walks into view. Everyone's there, except Zuko. Though he's on good terms with his Fire Nation friend, the circumstances under which he last saw him aren't ones he wants to remember.

One faded leather couch has Pipsqueak, Duke, Longshot, Smellerbee and Haru cozied up. Their significant others, some of whom Sokka only knows by name, are hanging out in various chairs, chatting amongst themselves. Teo's in his wheelchair, chatting animatedly with Suki on the opposite couch, who is wedged between Katara, who has Kya in her arms, and Toph, who's yelling at her daughter Lin across the room.

"Look who it is!"

"Wow, the legendary Wang Fire graces us with his presence!"

"Snoozles - oi, Linny! Let go of Bumi's hair!" That last one isn't hard. Toph's voice is unique. Sokka waves at all his friends, praying to every spirit and god of his people that his false smile will hold up.

* * *

The party is winding down. Sokka's smile has held up so far. In a way, the catching up helps, because he can think of things other than Yue, and it seems like everyone is making a concerted effort to talk about anything but what happened a year ago. Probably Katara's doing, he thinks.

The birthday boy has unwrapped his gifts. Katara shot Sokka a murderous glare when he gave Bumi a small hand-carved boomerang and promised to teach him how to use it. They also had a little cake, and now Bumi and Lin and Haru's kid and Longshot's kid are playing off in some corner of the house while the adults chit-chat.

After a while, it becomes a little stifling, so he steps out onto the balcony of Aang and Katara's condo into the more temperate air of the declining Sunday evening. Two shuffling feet follow behind him. He knows the gait well enough, and when he turns around, he's done pretending.

Toph, even more than Aang and Katara, is the one he's never had to pretend with.

"Hey, Snoozles," Toph says, looking in his direction. Looking is figurative; Toph is legally blind, though she's had some experimental nerve implants since she was a kid. Her parents were old money upper crust in Gaoling, and they were able to get the best for their daughter. Toph once told him that the company - Badgermole Industries - that made her implants were hoping to strike gold on the cure to blindness. They didn't restore her sight in the conventional sense, but they did allow her to 'see' by means of vibration.

Besides, she'd saved his life countless times during the war, and she's one of the finest shots he knows, so she might as well be Daredevil in his book.

"Hey Cap," he replies. That earns him a punch on the shoulder.

"It's not 'Cap' outside of working hours, toolbag."

He glances down at his watch. "It'll be working hours soon enough."

That earns him a second punch. "Fuck you, as if I needed the reminder. I gotta take Lin early to school tomorrow, have an early parent-teacher conference."

"They have those in pre-school?"

Toph snorts. "Yeah, it's not like how it used to be for us. How are you doing?"

For a moment, Sokka debates whether he should bullshit her. But it's Toph, and Toph doesn't even need her implants to see through his bullshit, so there's no point. "Hanging in there."

"Well or by a thread?"

Sokka doesn't have to think about the answer to that. "Closer to the latter."

It's quiet for a while, as the great disc of the sun finally starts its dip into the horizon. There's not much traffic underneath, so aside from the noise of a mild wind up high here, and the occasional squawking of birds, it's relatively peaceful.

"It's progress," Toph says. "This first year will probably be the hardest. I can't say it'll never be hard, but it's supposed to get easier with time."

His grip around the warm metal railings of the condo balcony tighten. "I suppose."

"You've already come a long way in six months," she points out.

"Mostly because you and Katara dragged my ass to the program meetings after." It's true - while the cocktail of drugs and alcohol he drowned himself in during the search didn't kill him, it would have consumed him once the search itself was over. He remembers how it was. He was purposeless and directionless. It would have been all too easy for his destructive addictions to lead him to hell.

Toph leans in, and she places her hand gently on top of his. It's not a grand gesture, but from Toph, it's meaningful. She communicates through punches. A simple, gentle touch like this is profound.

"We got him, Sokka. We caught the bastard - _you_ caught him. All there was left for you to do was to find a way to forgive yourself. I'm not convinced you ever stopped believing that it was your fault, and you _need_ to. It wasn't."

Some part of him knows she's right. The other part of him thinks if only he'd connected the dots earlier, or if only he'd seen everything... Yue might still be alive. That's the part that eats away at him daily.

"That doesn't mean you throw yourself into work like it's the only thing left to live for," Toph says quietly. She nudges him with her shoulder. "Don't get me wrong, our clearance rates are bonkers because you've turned into a workaholic, but don't replace one addiction for another."

"Work helps," Sokka says. It's easier to bury your problems in the dirt when you're helping others deal with theirs, in a way. "Besides, it's productive. Healthy," he adds.

"Maybe if we were yoga instructors, I'd agree," Toph says exasperatedly. "We're cops, for fuck's sake. There's not much healthy about this job." She pinches the bridge of her nose and sighs. "Look, Snoozles. You know I'm no good at this pep-talk shit."

Sokka begs to disagree. Toph might not be full of flowery speech, but she has a way of reaching through his bullshit in a way no one else really does.

She continues. "Look in there." She jabs past the sliding door that leads back into Aang and Katara's condo, where people are still talking animatedly and posing for Instagram selfies and laughing. "That's what Yue would want for you. Not standing out here and doing this sad-sack of shit routine with me. She wouldn't have wanted you to freeze yourself like this. C'mon. Let's go inside, grab a juice, and shoot the shit with everyone."

So that's what he does. His friends are good people. They try their best to keep his mind off her.

He's one of the last few to leave, which makes him a little satisfied. He says goodbye to Bumi with a big hug, and a sweet kiss on the forehead to sleeping baby Kya, Katara walks him to the door and holds him tight before pressing a kiss to his cheek. "You did good today, Sokka."

He smirks. "When do I not?"

His sister rolls her eyes. "I'd say don't let it go to your head, but if it means I get to have my brother come back to me again... by all means, let it go to your head." Her voice quavers a little at the end, and it's a stark reminder that he wasn't the only one to suffer in the aftermath. She tears up and pulls him into a warm embrace, drying her eyes on the sleeve of his button-down. "I'll always be there, Sokka. Don't be a stranger, with me or the kids. Shit, crash here next Friday. You can help Aang babysit the little ones while I'm working the night shift."

He laughs as she lets him go. "That doesn't sound too terrible, actually. I'll see you at the Roasted Dragon for sure, either way?"

"Yeah," she says, and with a gentle push, he's out the door. He takes the elevator down to the lobby, but to his surprise, Suki is hanging out outside the building.

Out of everyone at Bumi's birthday, she's the one he spoke to least. They've always stayed friends, even after their tumultuous high-school sweetheart affair crashed and burned in college, and hell, Suki even got along famously with Yue after Sokka started to date her. But after Yue, it felt almost sacrilegious to talk to her. That's on him, not on her, he knows.

Now, he looks at the cobalt-eyed, auburn-haired girl in front of him, unable to run.

"Hey," she says softly. "We didn't really get to talk much."

That's Suki, absolving him of the blame for being an avoidant asshole. She's always been far too forgiving of his faults. "Don't say it like it's your fault," he chides gently. "We both know it's me."

"Yeah, but it's bad form to say as much," she says, quirking a smile his way. "How are you?"

He can't really lie to Suki either, so he just shrugs. "Better than I would have been languishing at home, I guess."

"That's what friends are for, Sokka," she reminds him. "They might not be able to totally unburden you, but they can lighten the load if you'd let them."

Nobody should have to carry what he's carried, he thinks, but the fact that everyone at that party was willing to help is a good reminder that he has good people in his life.

"You guys did a pretty good job up there," he replies. "I'm sorry, Suki. I've been distant with you even more than the others. That's not fair." He doesn't say why, but it's unspoken knowledge between them.

She nods. "I know. But I understand why, even if it's not rational. Grief rarely is." She brushes a stray strand of hair out of her face. "Whatever else we've been to one another, we've never been dishonest. You mean a lot to me. You always will, Sokka - even if it's just as a friend."

His hand finds hers and he gives it a little squeeze. "You've always been the better one out of us two, Sukes. You don't know how good it is to see you again."

She presses a soft kiss to his cheek. "Double your way, mister. I'll see you around, okay?" She leaves, stepping into her little green crossover, and drives away. Sokka stares after her, thinking of all the people he has let down and pushed away.

The moon is out again. He looks up. No, Yue would not have wanted this for him. Toph was right about that much. He's been latching on to her memory as an excuse.

* * *

When he finally arrives at his apartment, he's tired. Even if he wasn't faking it in front of Toph and Suki, being strong is hard. The walls come down, and he soaks it off in the shower for an indeterminable period of time. Maybe it's just the Southern Water Tribesman in him, but he's always taken freezing showers, and right now is no exception. He's drying his hair when the doorbell rings; without thinking about it, he's opened the door with nothing but a towel tied around his waist.

It takes him a second to realize his neighbor Azula is standing in front of him, looking rather exasperated with her hands on her hips. She's dressed in an oversized red tee and leggings, but her hair is always constant, tied in her usual knot with the side bangs. She looks him up and down once before her eyes settle on his own, and she tells him with no note of humor in her voice:

"If you ever greet me in anything less than a full state of dress again, I promise you I'll end you."

Somehow, the fact that she's absolutely _not_ kidding makes Sokka chuckle despite himself. "Sorry, I'll be sure not to do that." He pushes the door open and jerks his head in an invitation. "Let me get decent and I'll be right out. Make yourself at home."

Sokka's fairly sure she hesitates for a moment, but he's already turned around and headed back to his room. He tugs on a pair of sweats and a long sleeve shirt of his favorite football team, the South Pole Polardogs before he meets Azula, who's sitting in his living room like she's in an alien habitat.

"I did say try and make yourself at home, not act like you're in the waiting room of a doctor's office," Sokka says lightly. "Can I get you something? I don't keep alcohol in the house, but I have some... juice. And a couple of sodas, maybe. Water? Tea?"

She simply wrinkles her nose at his shirt. "Polardogs fan?"

He looks down at the happy polardog mascot on the shirt, and then back up, a little bewildered. "Yes? They made it to the Super Bowl this past season... Is that a crime?"

Azula smirks at him. "No, but what the Caldera Dragons did to them certainly was. That was a defeat for all time. I'd be surprised if the Polardogs ever rise from the ashes of their shame and humiliation."

He sighs, defeated. "Well, there's no accounting for taste. Anyway, what's up?"

"My air conditioning is malfunctioning. There's a technician on his way, but in the meantime, I'd rather not spend my time in a miniature recreation of the Boiling Rock. I also find myself with a distinct lack of pastimes."

 _Funny way to say you're bored._ he thinks. But now that he's home, and thoughts of Yue are likely to overwhelm him again, it's as if Azula's thrown him an escape rope. Anything to kill time before the day is over and his mind finds some solace in the new day.

He reaches over to his coffee table and pulls out a box from underneath. "Pai sho?"

"Surely you're joking?" Azula is bewildered. "First, you offer me tea, and now pai sho. Are you sure you're not my uncle?"

Sokka pulls out the board and sets up his tiles and hers. "Your uncle sounds awesome. And you sound too chicken to face off against me."

She groans. "Sokka, I'm hardly afraid. I simply have no-"

"Bawk-bawk-baawwwwwk," Sokka squawks.

Azula narrows her eyes and glares at him with a stare that could kill. She takes her place across from him lightning-quick and starts assembling her tiles. "I'm going to actually obliterate you, Water Tribesman. They'll be picking up the pieces for days."

"That's more like it, chicken," Sokka smirks. The look she shoots him then is rather hateful.

True to her word, she absolutely _smashes_ him. Granted, it's not his best game, but even his best game would be hard-pressed to play her to an even draw. But even as he's getting destroyed, his mind is free and clear of any spiraling thoughts, and he's actually enjoying it.

He realizes they've been stealing glances at each other while they play. Purely analytical, of course - testing out the other's reactions as they consider moves, or to gauge how much a certain strategy put a dent in the other's plan. She's exceptionally good at maintaining a poker face, but then again, Sokka isn't exactly putting her plan to the test.

When she finally breaks through the last of his defenses with a particularly brutal offensive, she looks up at him with vindictive triumph. Still, Sokka can see the plain surprise on her face when he's smiling back at her.

"Why are you smiling like a fool?" she says sharply.

"Because I had fun," Sokka says simply.

"Fun?" she splutters. "I... But..."

"Yeah, you fucking wrecked me. Banished my ass to the shadow realm. Pick your choice of phrase. I still had a lot of fun."

Her phone chimes, and Sokka can see a text notification. Azula swipes on it and reads it under her breath. He averts his eyes to check his watch. They've been at it for a while - it's 10:30 PM.

"The tech fixed my air conditioning," Azula says. "I should return. Work early tomorrow and all..."

Sokka hums in agreement. "Same." A part of him, however, is reluctant to part ways with her. Perhaps it's because she's his age, unlike the rest of their neighbors, and is at least tolerable company, but that's not entirely true. She's alternatingly frigid and fiery, vacillating between standoffish and snarky, but somehow Sokka still doesn't mind spending time with her.

She collects the pieces into a baggie as he packs away the set. After the cleanup, he walks her to the door, and when she's out, she hesitates in the landing, turning back around to face him, as if to say something. Sokka leans against his doorframe and smiles.

"Down for a rematch some other time?" he asks. "As a player, I've never gone up against someone as good as you."

She scoffs. "Don't flatter yourself, you were never even a player." She's at her door before she turns back and faces him. "But if you're so eager to lose, I suppose I can indulge you another time."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise there is an actual detective plot with fairly dark undertones coming up. I just like giving the characters some them-time before dumping them into the meat of the plot.


	4. Pincushions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Azula's first day on the job is shaken up before midday.

"Where are you?"

The Captain sounds irate over the phone. In truth, she sounds irate in general, and Azula comes to the conclusion that the Captain is simply an irate person. All in all, Azula thinks it's not a fantastic start to her first day on the clock. Her eyes flicker over to the clock in her car's infotainment system, which reads 7:43 AM. She's not supposed to be in the precinct until 8:30.

"Five minutes away from the precinct, Captain," Azula says. There's a soft crackling, and she can hear the Captain talk to someone on the other end.

"-ka, no, just wait, she'll be here. No, sit your ass down. You're waiting for your partner. Sozin, you still there?"

"Yes, Captain."

"I'm going to send you an address. Get here ASAP." The line clicks dead, and Azula puts away the phone. She pulls the aviators down her face and examines herself once more in the mirror until she is satisfied that her white shirt and grey trousers are acceptably pressed and starched.

Outside the windshield of her nondescript black Cabbage sedan, the morning sun streams into her face. The city heats up quickly, though it's not quite as steamy as Caldera, so her air conditioning is on full blast already. She takes a deep breath, and the smell of hot black coffee intermingles with the leatherette scent of a new car.

She pulls off the highway and takes the exit that leads to the precinct building. When she pulls into the parking lot, there's a text awaiting her from the Captain with an address. She's not especially familiar with the streets and neighborhoods of Republic City, but she's a quick study. This one is on Sato Street. She punches in the address into her navigation, and then she's back on the road, on her way.

She leans back against the stiff seat and drums her fingers against the steering wheel as she drives. As she was getting ready, she heard the door across from her open and close. No doubt, it was Sokka on his way to work, and her guess was confirmed when she heard the telltale growl of his motorcycle. He is the only one on the street that uses one as his primary mode of transportation. She found her curiosity piqued as to what kind of job required him to leave even earlier than her.

There's little else to think of on the road; she knows the case files assigned to her and Hakodason, her mysterious partner, back and forth, so she thinks of Sokka instead. He is a question mark, and that intrigues her. She realizes that for all the things she's learned about him, she knows very little of substance. In fact, the only _real_ piece of information she has on his life is that he served in the United Forces, specifically the Engineering Corps, during the war, and participated in the humanitarian operation in Jang Hui. For all the words they've exchanged, he's been very good at not revealing more than that about himself.

Azula isn't sure if she should be alarmed that the neighbor with startling azure eyes still occupying her thoughts when her navigation noisily announces, in a voice too snooty for the price of her car, that she has arrived at her destination.

She blinks and unbuckles her belt, stepping out of the car. A car wheels around and past her as she slams the door shut and takes in her surroundings. The street she's on is well manicured in the most sterile of suburban ways. From the flower bushes to the amur maples that edge the perfectly symmetrical sidewalks alongside the asphalt road, everything here screams an appeal to the most monotonous of middle-class sensibilities. She finds the pretension to wealth a little amusing, when compared to the life she was born into, and then she banishes the thought quickly. She doesn't need to think of Ozai and his mistakes and the penance she has had to do for her last name.

Someone taps her shoulder as she strides over to the sidewalk. There's a woman with an eminently punchable face, brown doe eyes, and a bob-cut, which in combination are the aggravating signifiers of the haughty suburban queens of not-minding-their-own-fucking-business, and she's giving her a poisoned honey smile that Azula desperately wants to wipe off her moronic face.

"I'm sorry, miss, but you can't park here. I'm not sure how they park in _your neighborhood_ , but here in the Palisades, you either have to find a metered spot or-"

Azula pulls down her sunglasses and tunes out the woman's inane babble before she flickers her gaze over to her car. She suppresses a sigh - this is what she gets for getting her own car and not taking advantage of the precinct's offer of a patrol car, but she doesn't want a loud badge of her occupation following her everywhere she goes. On the other hand, situations like the present occasionally arise.

"- miss, are you listening? Move your car to a proper spot, or I'll have to call the towing company-"

Azula flashes the badge on her waist and glares down at the lady. "Kindly remove yourself from my face or I'll fucking toss you in a squad car for obstruction, _miss_ ," she hisses.

To her never-ending satisfaction, the woman deflates faster than a popped helium balloon and scurries away just as quickly. Azula knows she's not supposed to use the perks of the job like this, but it surely can't hurt, just this once; to see the frightened expression on that mousy face was certainly worth it.

She pulls out the badge and unfurls the chain lanyard, looping it around her neck for greater visibility, and goes on her way.

The police have cordoned off a townhome, a dark brick three-floor neo-industrial monstrosity with a faded grey roof. Decorative owls in shades of sandstone adorn the façade. She can see police and CSIs through the windows, of which there are plenty on the front of the house. Excited neighbors, no doubt many of them experiencing their first disturbance in this otherwise peaceful and boring neighborhood, flock around the edge, taking pictures and Snapchats with their phones in their athleisure wear.

Azula pushes through them and flashes her badge to an officer manning the cordon, who lets her in. There is a flurry of activity inside, as officers and forensics trawl over and inside the property for anything that might help them.

"It's a fucking house of horrors in there," a young uniform leans over to say to her, as she tries to get into the house. She glances at the man - young, probably fresh out of the academy, and smacking away on a stick of gum.

"The Captain just told me to come here," Azula says. "Do you know where I can find her?"

"Mm. You new? Haven't seen you before." The officer's eyes trail over her in a way she does not care for, and she's irked that he didn't answer her Agnidamned question.

"First day," she answers tersely.

"Welcome to the precinct. I'm Hiro," he says, extending a hand towards her. She looks at it with an eyebrow arched, but otherwise makes no movement. He retracts it awkwardly when he realizes she' isn't about to meet it. "You're a detective, right? Who's your partner?"

"Hakodason."

"Oh," Hiro says, his green eyes widening a little. "Ohhh. Interesting. I knew Hahn transferred out, but I didn't think they'd saddle someone else with Hakodason so quickly." He leans in conspiratorially as if to share a secret between friends. "He's a... piece of work," he says, with a short laugh, as if unsure how to describe him. "I mean come in to work at 5 AM and leave at 10 PM kind of guy. Half the time he sleeps _at_ the station."

She shuffles over half an inch to put space between her and Hiro, but his words have piqued her interest. "I don't know anything about him," she says with a shrug. "Is he here somewhere?"

"He's probably somewhere up the Captain's ass," Hiro says. He starts to make his play then, an attempt to get her number, but Azula pushes past him before he can say a word and marches into the house. The foyer is crowded, and she pushes through a host of uniforms and EMTs into a less packed dining room.

Though Hiro described the place as a house of horrors, there's nothing particularly horrifying about this house. In fact, the most she can describe as is... empty. There's rooms that are clearly purposed for one thing or another - the room she's in is likely adjoining dining room, judging by the tacky low-slung chandelier and faux industrial gaslight fixtures, but there's no furniture here. She peeks her head out of the dining room and takes in the layout, careful to avoid getting crashed into by a rushing officer or paramedic. In fact, the house is almost entirely devoid of furnishings.

"Sozin?" a brusque voice interrupts her.

Azula whips around to find herself staring into the milky-jade eyes of Captain Beifong. The woman has her arms crossed and her face is contorted into a grimace that Azula could have seen from a mile away. She does not consider herself easily intimidated, but the Captain seems more and more ferocious every time Azula meets her.

"Captain?" she answers.

A uniform officer ducks into the room on his way back to the door. The Captain reaches out and grabs him by the shoulder, pulling him in. She whispers something to him, and he nods and heads back into the den of the house. The Captain turns her attention back to her.

"Hakodason will be right here. You got here pretty quick."

"Is that so? I seem late," Azula remarks.

"Most of these guys are night-shift officers," the Captain says. "What, you thought you got here after everyone else on your shift? Hell no. Your dumbass partner is the only one who comes in earlier, and he's insane. Don't emulate him."

Azula cocks her head. That's twice now someone has mentioned Hakodason's addiction to work. As far as she's concerned, that's a point in his book, not a detraction. "I'm not even sure what's happened." She points at the empty space in the house. "Judging by the number of officers..."

"That's because the parents of the little vandal kids who broke into the house were hysterical when they called 911," the Captain says, her frown deepening. "It's probably better if I just show you."

* * *

The room the Captain leads her to looks like it should be a home office, with window doors that open into a small high-walled backyard garden. Sunlight filters in through the glass, illuminating the space, which otherwise has no light sources. a little sanctuary of peace, replete with relaxing taupe walls and chocolate oak flooring.

Or it would be, anyway, if there weren't three men pinned against the wall, each with a dozen knives in him, oozing dried blood all over the hardwood. The room smells of excrement and death.

Azula steps up and examines the knives the dead men have been turned into pincushions with. They're not cheap, and the handles are fine, as if the knives were meant to be used as someone's fancy silverware. One of the knives is not sunk in deep, though, and she can see the deadly serrations on the blade, so they were not stabbed with elegant dinnerware. These are exquisite in make, but meant for living flesh, not food.

"Any ID?" she asks, continuing to examine the bodies.

"Not yet," the Captain grunts. "Nothing identifying in their pockets and wallets. Once forensics is done, we'll know who they are, if they're in the database."

"They likely are," Azula says, stooping a little in front of the middle body. She breathes in through her mouth, instead of her nose, ignoring the odor of corpses. She leans in closer, examining the man. He is balding, with a poor physique and rotting teeth. On his upper lip, there is a ratty mustache, and a telltale remnant of white powder. "This one is fond of cocaine." She eyes the other two bodies and steps back towards the Captain. "At the risk of showing my elitism, our victims do not strike me as upstanding citizens of Republic City. I'll wager they'll turn up in the databases as small-timers; an assault here, a possession charge there. I suppose that raises the question: why were they used for a game of pool hall darts?"

The Captain shrugs. "You tell me, Sozin. You're the detective."

Azula turns back around to examine the bodies. She loops, taking in every details he can about all of them, before putting gloves on. She examines the knives once more - there is a design on the handle, one she is only now catching, a barn owl carved into the handle. Each of the knives has the same motif etched onto them. She makes a note of it and moves on.

There's dirt under the fingernails of all of the victims, except one - that dirt is a little more red and crusted, and she wonders if it's blood. Another mental note made.

"There's an element of showmanship here," Azula concludes. "The bodies are presented to make a statement. What is that statement, though? What is the killer trying to convey?"

"You said they're not upstanding citizens. If they're drifters, homeless, or thugs themselves, what makes you think this is anything other than a turf dispute or the work of a gang?" Captain Beifong challenges her.

Azula feels at least a little insulted. Republic City neighborhoods are not her specialty, and she only knows of a few by reputation, so the Captain is clearly putting her through her paces, seeing how she can digest and synthesize information. Then again, she supposes if that is the tradeoff for a job where she's constantly overlooked because of her family's reputation, she'll gladly accept.

"Gangs don't usually kill people with knives more expensive than the drugs they sell," Azula points out. "Besides, I'm no expert on this neighborhood, but it doesn't strike me as one where gangland killings are commonplace, would you agree?"

The Captain's lip curls upward. "I agree."

Azula turns back to the bodies. "Who did you say this house belongs to, again?"

"I didn't. The owners are dual citizen Republicans and Northern Water Tribe. They've gone to Agna Qel'a over in the North Pole for the summer. Have been gone for six weeks," the Captain says. "There's a caretaker who comes in - came in this morning, actually, right up to the police cordon. An officer took him down to the station for a statement."

"Hmm. Killer finds a temporarily abandoned house. Either gets lucky with the caretaker, or they know when the caretaker comes in - the latter means that the killer knew the bodies would be discovered, and planned on it," Azula muses. "And you said kids found the body instead."

"Little gaggle of teenage dickheads thought they might break in and tag up the place, or maybe just kick it in some empty house. I guess they didn't know the owners have their belongings moved into storage right after they leave for Agna Qel'a for the summer. Most are from this neighborhood. Parents are bringing them down to the station too, so you can grill them as much as you like then."

There's a knock on the wall as someone enters in. Azula's back is to whoever it is - she's too intent on her theory, and is examining the bodies once more.

"Checked out my hunch," says a familiar voice. Her ears perk up at the noise, and she pauses what she's doing.

"And?" the Captain presses.

"The attic of the neighbor's townhome is literally the only sightline into the garden, the walls are that high. It's not amazing or anything, but you can see the bodies through their window. There's a stool there up in the attic, and an empty bottle of wine," the familiar voice says again. There's an unsettled undercurrent there, as if something is gnawing at the person. "Neighbors were out of town for the weekend, and I think the sicko was watching the whole thing and getting off to it. The neighbors were frightened out of their fucking minds when I found that stuff in their house." There's a pause, then, and a shuffling of feet. "Toph, we haven't seen something like this since-"

"It's not. We caught him. He's in the supermax out in the bay. It can't be him, and the M.O. is all wrong, too," the Captain - _Toph,_ she realizes the voice called her - insists almost reassuringly. _Odd, that the speaker seems to be so familiar with her, and she with him._

Azula's curiosity wins out. The voice is _too_ familiar, like an actor from an old-but-favorite movie, and it's _scratching_ at her, begging to be known. She's expecting an unknown face, and that the voice - low, assured, and a little sarcastic in tone - will belong to someone that she ultimately has never met. After all, so many people sound similar, and it would be asinine for this voice to belong to the person she has in mind.

She turns around, and is greeted by a very, very familiar pair of blue eyes that blink comically when they meet hers.

"Azula?" her neighbor blurts out.

"Sokka?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LMAO sorry for leaving it at a mini-cliffhanger


End file.
